


When crypt doors are creakin', don't come peekin'

by theheadgirl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Disney World & Disneyland, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-01 15:16:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15145937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheadgirl/pseuds/theheadgirl
Summary: During their Date Nite at Disneyland, Gemma gets a little overwhelmed on the Haunted Mansion. Luckily, Penelope knows exactly how to calm her down.





	When crypt doors are creakin', don't come peekin'

"Oh, it looks like a castle!” Gemma says, leaning forward to get a better look through the windshield. “Why can’t more of them look like castles?”

In their roadtrip, meandering along the coast of California, they had stayed in a variety of hotels, but most of them had just looked like regular hotels. This, at least, brought a little excitement to things.

“Do you think it looks like a castle on the inside, too?”

“No, it looks like a hotel,” Penelope replies, signaling the turn into the parking lot. She glances over at Gemma and can't help but laugh at the huge pout on her girlfriend's face. “I'm sorry, love, I didn't realize that would be such a dealbreaker.”

“It's meant to look like a castle inside!” Gemma protests. “Otherwise it's false advertising.”

“You spent seven years living in a castle. I thought you'd be happy to give something else a try.”

Gemma looks into the side-view mirror as Penelope pulls into a parking spot. From the side, the hotel looks more and more like a regular hotel, lined with metal railings and numbered doors. At least, she tells herself, the corridors that probably lead to the lift look a bit castle-y. The plain cinderblock walls and single light fixture reminds her of the dungeons. It's not much, but it's something.

“Is it a nice hotel, at least?”

“Everything I've read says so,” Penelope replies. “And you can't beat the location. Come on, let's go check in.”

Checking in is a painless process: since Penelope is Muggleborn, she has all of the necessary, non-magical cards and identification they need. The girl behind the counter hands them a small envelope with two cards in it.

“You're in room 306. Thanks for staying with us.”

“Thanks for having us,” Penelope replies. She turns to Gemma. “Shall we?”

Gemma looks around, in vain hope, for a bellboy or a porter, but they're a vanishing breed in America. Too much to hope, she supposes, especially for a hotel that only pretends to be a castle. With a sigh, she nods, grabbing the handle of her luggage.

“Now I understand why you're fussing so much about it being a castle,” Penelope teases while they're waiting for the lift. “It's because you're a princess.”

Gemma tosses her hair. “ _Obviously_. Just because I'm not wearing the tiara today doesn't mean I'm not a princess. We've been together this long and you're just now figuring it out?”

“I beg your pardon, I've always known,” Penelope says. 

“Okay, Ravenclaw,” Gemma says with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. 

The lift arrives then, saving Penelope from having to defend her cleverness. They board the lift and she presses the button for the third floor. A short while later, Penelope unlocks the door for room 306 and pushes it open.

“Your royal chamber awaits, Princess.” 

Gemma peers over her shoulder, taking in the room. It's far more spacious than she had been expecting, with two good-sized double beds and a small set-up with a mini-fridge and microwave. 

“We deem it acceptable,” she announces with a haughty sniff. “We shall grace this room with our presence.” 

Penelope laughs, stepping into the room and hoisting her bag onto the bed nearer the door. Gemma offers her bag and Penelope takes it, setting it next to her own.

“So what's our plan for tonight?” Gemma asks, dropping onto the non-baggage bed and taking the opportunity to rub her feet. The drive from Los Angeles had only been about an hour - not long enough for them to entirely recover from their morning on Rodeo Drive, but just enough for them to swell and ache. 

“I thought we'd head over around six,” Penelope says. She unzips her bag and starts rifling around in it. “That gives us a bit of time to rest up and get ready.” 

“I'm surprised you're able to wait until six,” Gemma says. “I thought you'd want to get there right away.”

Penelope sighs, defeated. “...the tickets don't get us in until six.”

The only way to stop Gemma's uproarious laughter is by throwing a pillow at her - then, when that doesn't work, bodily tackling her. 

 

It's just at six o’clock that Gemma and Penelope walk, hand-in-hand, under the arched entryway welcoming them to Disneyland Resort. The esplanade stretches out ahead of them, the Victorian-style train station of Disneyland on one side and the futuristic metal spires of Disney's California Adventure on the other. 

At Penelope’s insistence, they had dressed up a little: Penelope in a royal blue dress with a sweetheart neckline, cap sleeves, and a skirt made even fuller with a petticoat underneath, and Gemma in a tight emerald green dress edged with black lace at the bottom and around the neckline. Her hair was twisted up into a bun with a silver flower clipped into it.

(Penelope had asked if she always had to look like she'd modeled for a Slytherin fashion magazine. Gemma had asked if Penelope always had to be a giant nerd.)

As they approach the gate for Disneyland, Gemma glances at Penelope to see the transcendent look of joy on her face, her dark eyes filled with wonder.

“It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be,” she says, softly, more to herself than to Gemma. Her eyes flick from spot to spot to spot as though trying to memorize everything she can. 

They join the crowd at the turnstiles, and when they make it to the woman manning it, Penelope offers their ticket. She seems nervous, but Gemma can't imagine why. Everything Penelope has had on their agenda has gone off without a hitch; why would this be different?

The woman takes the ticket and scans it. “Welcome to Date Nite at Disneyland,” she tells them with a smile. “Have fun, ladies!”

“Thanks!” Gemma says, taking the ticket back. Penelope seems to have frozen. Gently, Gemma presses a hand to the small of the other woman's back and pushes her ahead. Penelope seems to come back to herself, grabs a park map, then hurries ahead, reaching behind for Gemma's hand.

They go under the bridge of the train station, and then Disneyland opens up before them. Penelope goes stock-still, eyes and mouth round in silent, delighted shock. 

“Is it everything you dreamed?” Gemma asks after a moment.

“Better,” Penelope replies. She turns and flings her arms around her girlfriend's neck, kissing her soundly. Gemma catches her around the waist, pulling her closer. Abruptly, Penelope pulls back, much to Gemma's disappointment.

“Making out later,” she says. “We’re in Disneyland now! Come on!”

“I'm holding you to that,” Gemma says, and allows herself to be dragged along Main Street, USA. 

As they walk down the street, Penelope points out the names on the windows and explains that each of them is someone who was instrumental in building the park, and she tugs Gemma around a corner, pointing to a set of windows near the fire station. One of the windows has a lit oil lamp in it.

“That's Walt's apartment,” she says, voice hushed, reverent. “He stayed here whenever he was in the park. That lamp was lit every time he was here. After he died, they left it lit to show his spirit was always here.”

Gemma looks at it, too. She supposes that if she were Muggleborn and had grown up on a steady diet of Muggle media, this would mean more to her. As it was, she'd seen her first Disney movie after she and Penelope had moved in together and by then, it was hard to accept anything besides Beedle the Bard as proper stories.

“Wow,” she says, because she gets the feeling that Penelope is waiting for a response.

Penelope laughs. “I know it doesn't mean much to you, Gem. Thanks for listening.”

“It means something to me because it means something to you,” Gemma corrects her. She pushes a loose curl behind Penelope’s ear. “Come on, don't you hear that music? Let's go dancing!”

Near Walt's apartment, in view of Sleeping Beauty Castle, a swing band is playing, and there's a cordoned-off dance area, already filling up. Gemma and Penelope are waved in.

After a few minutes of their very best efforts, Gemma feels a gentle tap on her shoulder. She turns to see an older couple smiling at them.

“I'm a swing dance instructor,” the woman says. “Would you girls like a lesson or two? Just to refine your skills.”

“We’d love it!” Penelope says, always eager to learn. 

With a kind guiding hand, it turns out they aren't half-bad. Carol takes them through a few basic steps and spins, and though they aren't nearly on the level of some of the other dancers, they do well enough.

“Thank you so much,” Penelope says, beaming at Carol. “You're amazing!”

“Have fun tonight,” Carol replies, and is swept off into the crowd by her husband.

“That was nice of her,” Gemma says, feeling much more confident in where to put her hands now. 

“That's the magic of Disneyland,” Penelope says, practically radiant in her joy. “I heard that people were nicer here, and it's true, they are!”

Gemma spins her, and the lights catch on Penelope's dark curls so for a moment, it looks like she's wearing a crown of stars. Gemma's heart aches with the swell of love she suddenly feels. 

They dip and spin and twirl, laughing, caught up in the romance of a moment spent dancing in the shadow of a castle so unlike the one they knew. Unlike Hogwarts, built to be a practical and impregnable fortress, Sleeping Beauty castle is every inch the perfect place for a fairy tale.

“It's getting kind of crowded in here,” Penelope calls over the noise later. “Do you want to check out the rest of the park?”

Rather than yell back, Gemma just nods, grabbing Penelope's hand to guide her out of the crowd. The air temperature drops by about five degrees just outside the dance floor. 

“Where to next?” she asks.

Penelope grins. “The most romantic place in the park, of course.” She consults her park map, then sets off towards a tall wooden sign that reads “ADVENTURELAND.”

“This is …?” Gemma asks, not quite questioning her, but not quite believing that _this_ is the most romantic place in the park. There are an awful lot of palm trees, and an “enchanted tiki room" sounds … well, kind of old-fashioned. 

“Not yet, be patient,” Penelope chides. “Oh! Let's stop here, though!” She points at the Tiki Juice Room. “I've heard so much about Dole Whips; we have to try them!”

After a short wait in line, Penelope buys two Dole Whips and presents one to Gemma. Gemma, unsure of what a Dole Whip is, but gathering from context clues that pineapples are involved, takes it. 

“Cheers,” says Penelope, tapping her cup of ice cream against Gemma's, then digging her spoon in and taking a bite. She closes her eyes and the look on her face is … well, Gemma's seen it before, but in a very different context. 

“That good?” she asks, taking a bite herself, and getting her answer before Penelope can provide it. Yes, yes it is. It's tart, sweet, cold, and amazing. “Merlin's beard!”

“Right?” Penelope laughs. “Come on, let's keep going.”

They finally pass through Adventureland and it opens into stately white buildings overlooking a lake that shimmers in the moonlight.

“New Orleans Square,” Penelope says with satisfaction, as though she built it herself. “The most romantic place in the park.”

“You aren't wrong,” Gemma breathes. Now she knows how Penelope must have felt in that moment on Main Street - overwhelmed, trying to take it all in, feeling like you just don't have enough eyes for all the looking you want to do. Her eyes bounce from the building in front of them to the promisingly dark and twisting alleyways, then up to the silhouette of a mansion half-hidden by trees. The moonlight catches on the columns in front, coloring them bone-white. She takes a step forward without thinking, drawn.

“What’s that?” she asks, pointing.

“The Haunted Mansion,” Penelope replies. “Do you want to go?”

Gemma nods. Her hand flails behind her for Penelope’s, and Penelope catches it, tangling their hands together. 

“Then what are we waiting for? Come on!”

Crossing through New Orleans Square, Penelope looks around, wanting to see it all while she can. Of course they’ll be back tomorrow, and there’s time - but now, in the moonlight, with only the other Date Nite at Disneyland attendees in the park, it almost feels like they have it to themselves. 

They pass through a pair of brick columns, and the house looms over them. It feels like a haunted house, and when Gemma looks up at the windows, they look like empty eyes - and is that a flicker of movement behind the curtain? 

In the grass surrounding the nearly empty queue, there are headstones scattered around, and though it’s dark, the women take a moment to look at each one, like the headstone for a cat surrounded by tiny headstones topped with birds, or one engraved “Rest in Peace, Cousin Huet/We all know you didn’t do it.”

Gemma nearly runs into the entrance itself, stopping short and having the decency to look a little embarrassed at the man who meets them at the door. He wears an impeccable dark green suit with a purple vest and a black tie, and his name tag reads “Mark.”

“Please drag your bodies to the dead center of the room,” he says, gesturing. There are a few other couples in there with them, and Penelope and Gemma join them, looking around, examining the portraits surrounding them.

Suddenly, a voice begins speaking. “Welcome, foolish mortals, to the Haunted Mansion. I am your host, your ghost host. Kindly step all the way in please, and make room for everyone. There’s no turning back now. Our tour begins here in this gallery, where you see paintings of some of our guests as they appeared in their corruptible, mortal state.” The voice continues, mentioning the room is stretching (“Penny, the paintings, look at the paintings!”), then pointing out that the room they’re now in has no windows or doors.

“Of course,” the voice finishes, “there’s always my way.”

The lights go out. There’s a huge clap of thunder, and lights flash across the ceiling. Someone screams, and when lightning flashes again, there is the unmistakable silhouette of a hanged body. Gemma shrieks and, when the lights come back up, she’s clutching Penelope’s hand in both of hers. 

“You absolute softy,” Penelope teases. “How long did you live in the dungeons?”

“Nobody was hanged in the dungeons!” Gemma points out. 

They follow the other couples into a long hallway, decorated with thick cobwebs and paintings on the walls. As lightning flashes, each painting changes for just a moment to another image: a ship to one with holes in its hull and ragged sails, or a beautiful woman revealing her savage nature. 

“And now, a carriage approaches to take you into the boundless realm of the supernatural.Take your loved ones by the hand, please, and kindly watch your step.”

“No problem there,” Penelope remarks. Gemma hasn’t let go of her hand since the stretching room. They get onto the moving walkway, gestured into one of the doom buggies by a maid, and the doom buggy takes off. 

“Gemma,” Penelope says, softly, as their doom buggy takes them in front of a maze of stairs going up and down and sideways, “are you really scared?”

“Sort of?” Gemma admits. “Why?”

Penelope slides her hand out of Gemma’s, then up her thigh, pushing the tight green fabric of her dress up. “I have a way to take your mind off of things, I think.”

A spark of want immediately burns away any fear in Gemma’s dark eyes. “I like the way you think, Penelope Clearwater.”

Penelope leans in to kiss Gemma, soft and gentle at first, then more firmly as Gemma responds with unquestioned positivity. Gemma’s tongue presses against Penelope’s lips, and she parts them, their tongues tangling together. Gemma moans softly into the kiss, her hips shifting a little, seeking the friction her body already wants. 

Penelope grabs one of Gemma’s breasts through her dress, groping her. The layers of dress and bra deaden some of the sensation, but just knowing that Penelope is kissing her and touching her like that, here, in this spooky house, is enough. 

“Wizards and witches,” says a female voice, “wherever you dwell, give us a hint by ringing a bell.” A bell rings. Penelope breaks the kiss.

“I’ll ring your bell,” she says, voice nearly a growl, and they both laugh. Penelope shifts her hand up Gemma’s thigh again, and Gemma spreads her legs as much as her tight skirt will accomodate. For the first time, she wishes she hadn’t worn the wiggle dress - yes, it looks amazing on her, but now it’s more than a little inconvenient. Finally, though, Penelope does push it up enough to maneuver her hand properly, and without hesitation, she nudges Gemma’s panties aside, rubbing her thumb against Gemma’s clit. Gemma whimpers, then leans in to kiss Penelope again, lest her noises alert the employees or other couples as to what they’re doing. 

Penelope adjusts her angle so she can slide one of her fingers inside of Gemma as well, while her thumb keeps rubbing circles on the other woman’s clit. She rocks it in and out of her, and Gemma grabs Penelope’s arm tightly, keeping her close. To the sound of organ music punctuated by gunshots, Penelope slides a second finger inside, starting a quick pumping motion. Gemma squirms, rocking her hips against Penelope’s fingers, gasping softly. Luckily, the ruckus of the ride covers whatever noises aren’t swallowed by their kissing - and there’s the sound of an axe dropping that coincides with an especially loud “oh!” when Penelope rubs her clit at just the right angle. 

“Penny,” she gasps out, “that, keep doing that, just - faster, please - “

Penelope nods, and leans forward to kiss her again, heated and hungry, pumping her fingers faster, as Gemma requested. Gemma’s grip on her arm is nearly bruisingly tight now, and her hips rock wildly against Penelope’s fingers.

She breaks the kiss again to breathe, though it’s more panting at this point. There’s a heat under her skin and a pressure coiling, low in her stomach, and as the doom buggy spins around and tips out the attic window, Gemma throws herself against Penelope, claiming her lips in a desperate kiss, moaning her orgasm into the other woman’s mouth. She grinds hard against Penelope’s fingers, drawing it out as long as absolutely possible, and when she finally falls back against the back of the doom buggy, she makes hazy eye contact with a figure popping out behind a headstone. She starts, a little, but she feels too good to be too frightened. Penelope draws her hand out and, ever the proper lady, pulls a handkerchief out of her purse to wipe her hand off with. Then, because she is also a Ravenclaw, she puts the handkerchief into a small plastic bag for later Scourgifying.

“Not so scary now, is it?” she asks, grinning at the blissed-out look on Gemma’s face.

“I don’t think I’ll be scared of anything ever again,” Gemma replies. She adjusts her panties into place and squirms her skirt back down, even raking a hand through her hair to make sure it’s not too out of place. She leans over and kisses Penelope one more time. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me yet, you’re returning the favor later,” Penelope replies, her grin so unexpectedly wicked that Gemma feels another spike of desire.

“Name the ride and it’s yours,” she says. The doom buggies turn into one last corridor, where a doll in a bride costume entreats them to “hurry back, hurry back … be sure to bring your death certificate if you decide to join us…”

They climb out of the doom buggy and, hand in hand, climb up the incline leading out of the attraction. 

“So where to next?” Gemma asks.

“Oh, I know exactly where I'd like you to return the favor,” Penelope answers. She nods towards the distant spires of the castle, and starts humming softly as they start to walk. It takes her a moment, but Gemma then realizes she's singing, too.

“ _There is just one moon and one golden sun, and a smile means friendship to everyone…_ ”

The lyrics are sweet and positive, but for some reason, the tune sends a shiver of dread down Gemma's spine.

“Penny?”

“ _Though the mountains divide and the oceans are wide, it's a small world after all!_ ”

Penelope's smile is brilliant and wicked. Gemma is helpless before it. Together, they hurry towards Fantasyland - and whatever lies within it.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry not sorry about getting "it's a small world" stuck in your head. ;)


End file.
